


Masquerading as a Man with a Reason

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Reality, Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-21
Updated: 2010-03-21
Packaged: 2017-10-08 04:30:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's glad not to have to bear the burdens that his father and brother do, but that doesn't explain why he feels restless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masquerading as a Man with a Reason

There is an itch under Dean’s skin.

He doesn’t know how it got there, what it’s doing there, or how to scratch it.

It makes him feel anxious, like he’s teetering on the edge of something. This feeling’s been there for months, ever since Dad came back, but Dean hasn’t said anything aloud to anyone. Why would he? How _can_ he, when he doesn’t even know why he feels this burning restlessness? If anyone should be feeling uneasy it’d be either Dad or Sam, both of whom actually are standing in the thick of things. Dean’s the one whose job it is to keep them grounded, his very presence reminding them that they’re family and have to stick together despite everything around them.

They’re arguing, now, but Dean isn’t worried. Arguing’s pretty much their default state of being, and he can tell when to intervene based solely on the tones of their voices. Right now it’s not even hit Yellow Alert. This is actually Dad and Sam on a good day, keeping the argument away from the harsher blows they could use if they really wanted.

Dad glances at his watch. “Okay, let’s wind this down for now. He should be here any moment.”

“I’m still not sure we can trust him,” Sam says.

“I _don’t_ trust him, period,” Dad says. “But we can still hear what he has to say.”

The _he_ that they’re talking about is Castiel, who appears in their motel room in a rustle of displaced air, at exactly the agreed time. He looks just as Dean’s seen him the previous couple of times, the slight dishevelment of his vessel enough to lower one’s defenses until one looks into his eyes, which are cold and distant. Dean’s seen a lot of supernatural beings, but they at least had a touch of humanity about them. This one doesn’t.

“Hello, John.” Castiel always says that when he arrives. The inflection never changes, nor does the expression on his face.

“Castiel,” Dad says, crossing his arms. “What’s the news this time?”

“There is work for you,” Castiel says gravely.

Dad’s face says _impress me_, and Dean has to snort, because of course Dad would have no qualms about facing down what is the most powerful creature they’ve ever encountered. The fact that it’s the very same creature that got Dad out of Hell is barely relevant.

Dean’s never actually talked to Castiel, since the guy only ever drops in for a couple of minutes at a time, and always homes in directly to Dad. Dean likes it like that because there’s no way he can take being the direct recipient of that unnerving inhuman stare – it’s disconcerting enough to see it aimed at someone else. Better Dad than him, definitely.

“Azazel is gathering the other special children,” Castiel tells Dad. “He will come for Sam soon.”

Sam exhales sharply. He looks at Dean, who shrugs back at him.

“Then we take him out,” Dad says. “We have the advantage this time. He doesn’t know you guys are back on Earth.”

“Not yet,” Castiel says. “But he will.”

The angel gives them a location, agreeing to meet them there when they’ve stocked up and readied themselves. Then he’s gone, and Dean can exhale.

It’s not about them anymore. Hell, it’s not even about revenge anymore. Azazel’s still out there, and both Dad and Sam are as determined as ever to tear the bastard out with their teeth, but now the stakes are different.

Now, the whole world rides on them succeeding.

Dean is fucking glad he doesn’t have that responsibility. He’s thankful for it every day, but the itch is still there.

He doesn’t know how to scratch it.

**Author's Note:**

> Read the [fluffier version](http://archiveofourown.org/works/73591) of this fic.


End file.
